People often ask if he was supposed to be born in August, inquiring as to why he was christened as such, but that was never the intention. His actual due date was today, July 31, so to say that I hoped he would be born in August would mean that I hoped that my pregnancy would last longer than the time frame assigned to my gestating child, and anyone knows that a woman, pregnant with her third child, struggling to walk, sit, eat, sleep, breathe with a ridiculously large beach ball protruding from her midsection does not wish to extend this relationship beyond that assigned date, especially not in the middle of summer, in Texas where temperatures were climbing to 110 degrees. No, I did not hope he would be born in August. In fact, I hoped he would show his face in mid July, and as the days passed with no sign of labor, I started to panic. My husband says I went crazy. I blame it on end-of-pregnancy hormones, but I thought if he were to be born in August, people might confuse his name for his birth month, not know his name, blah, blah, blah, [I don't remember all of my wailing rants], but I actually thought if my August were to be born in August, it would ruin his life. So, yes, I went crazy. It was August's fault.
And as the story goes, on July 28th, I set out to have a baby. I walked 3 miles in scorching weather, ran [waddled] up and down my stairs what felt like 100 times [probably 10], I ate shrimp, Mexican food, spicy food, spicy Mexican shrimp food, did jumping jacks, maybe cried a bit, and absolutely begged this baby to show his face. He arrived the next day, and my baby August was born in July.
On Wednesday, my beautiful baby boy turned three. I watched him smirk as he ate a birthday breakfast donut, I smiled as he admired his birthday chalkboard drawing of a turkey, bear, and giraffe as per his request, I laughed out loud when I discovered our kitchen floor covered in sprinkles and heard August yell, "Surprise! Trixie can eat them all!" and I tried to relish every part of that day.
August Huxley, you might have listened to me once, showing up when I insanely beckoned you to arrive in July, but you have been forming your own path ever since. You are extremely independent, and I love that about you, but things might be a little easier if you would take your mom's advice once in a while. You love to say "I can do it myself!" and most times you can. You've loved music since you were a wee babe, and that love of music has evolved into a love of singing and dancing. You are quite the dancer. You love, love, love to be read to and I have no doubt you will be reading on your own fairly soon because you are a determined little boy who can "do it [yourself]." You make us laugh out loud every day.
I love you sweet boy!